


Scratched

by CupcakeGirlA



Category: Olympics RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:24:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupcakeGirlA/pseuds/CupcakeGirlA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Ryan get those scratches on his back? Mike knows. <br/>http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_maxl3q9nvO1qlxzewo1_500.jpg</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratched

Mike cries out at the first thrust, letting himself be pushed face first into the brick wall. They shouldn’t be doing this. Not here. Not where they could be seen at any moment. And definitely not at a competition, but Mike can’t stop it. Doesn’t want to stop it. 

The second thrust is faster and harder, and makes him groan long and low into the shadow his body creates braced against the red brick. 

The third push bows his back and sends his fingers scrabbling across the rough wall, fingernails catching and breaking against the rough texture. It’s the only thing he has to hold on too, and clings to it as well as he can. Staying upright is a main priority here. Bob will be pissed if he shows up to evening session with bruised knees. 

Ryan sets up a fast powerful rolling rhythm that has Mike clenching his teeth, and grunting into his own elbow. He presses his hips back into each push of Ryan’s hips against his, letting himself be taken. It feels good. It’s amazing. And the rush builds in Mike’s system quickly. But Ryan’s the one in control and he knows Michael’s body, knows when he’s close, and what to do to stop it. He presses in deep, his body sandwiching Michael’s between his hips and the wall. Then he stops moving. 

Michael lets out a whine of frustration, clenching around Ryan’s dick.

“Fuck!” he growls. “Ry!?” he whines. 

Ryan laughs low and dirty in his ear. 

“Problem?” he asks. 

“Stop messing with me or I swear to God…” Michael demands. Ryan’s teeth scrape down his neck, and he huffs in Michael’s ear. 

“Whatcha going to do if I don’t?” he asks. Michael tries to shift, but hands go to his hips, pressing him tight to the wall. His hard dick presses into the brick wall, and he groans at the pained pleasure it causes. “Just stay there, Mike. I’m doing this how I want to,” Ryan says, nipping at Michael’s shoulder. He slowly pulls his hips back, taking his time, making Michael suffer. Michael sneers at the wall, resting his forehead against rough stone. Bracing himself with his left forearm, he reaches back with the other, using his extreme flexibility and abnormally long reach to wrap his arm around Ryan’s waist. He flexes, pulling Ryan’s hips hard into his own. Ryan presses deep and hard, and Michael loses his grip, hand scrambling across Ryan’s back, fingernails leaving deep red furrows on the tan skin there. Ryan hisses in his ear, his hips stuttering forward harder and with a sharper angle. Michael moans at the stimulation on his prostate, and pushes back. “Shit!” Ryan grunts. He rests his forehead on Michael’s shoulder, and Michael reaches back again, grabbing and pulling, and trying to make him move. 

“Ry,” he gasps out, low and harsh. “Please!” He can feel Ryan’s breath hot and fast against the back of his shoulder. 

“Jeah, since you asked so nicely,” Ryan pants. 

By the time Ryan finishes with him, Michael is a shaking pile of limbs on the floor. His muscles ache and quiver with over use and he ends up leaning against the wall for support as he tries to breathe. He’s sticky in uncomfortable places, but he feels too good to care. Ryan stands over him, out of breath but grinning. 

“Come on, we gotta go, before someone catches us,” he offers Mike a hand, and pulls him back to his feet. “We gotta do this more often. That was wild!” he says, turning away to find his t-shirt. That’s when Mike sees the scratches. They crisscross Ryan’s lower back in a sore red scribble. They spell sex, in placement and enthusiasm. Michael looks at his ragged nails, torn and broken from the brick of the wall and feels his face flush. He’s marked Ryan. He’s never marked Ryan before, and he likes it more than he ever thought he would. Ryan pulls the t-shirt on and the marks disappear underneath it. Ryan turns to look at him, confused. “Come on, Mikey. We’re gonna be late!” he tosses Michael his t-shirt. 

Michael wonders how long it will take for the sting of broken flesh to break through the high of good sex endorphins to reach Ryan’s brain. He decides he probably shouldn’t be around when it happens. That shit is going sting tomorrow when the chlorine hits it.

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'ed yet. Will edit when that's been done.


End file.
